


Soldiers of War

by JadenRose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV), Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Croatoans, Destiel - Freeform, Endverse, M/M, Multi, Wincest - Freeform, Wincestiel - Freeform, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 01:37:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2794991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadenRose/pseuds/JadenRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THOSE WHO HAVEN'T SEEN SEASON 9.</p><p>Supernatural meets the zombie apocalypse - as if the first apocalypse wasn't bad enough.  Now Dean has twice as much crap on his plate; after what happened with Crowley, he disappears for a few weeks on his own and leaves Sam and Castiel in a panic.  When he comes back, he lies to them about what he was doing in Essex, Montana where apparently a zombie outbreak has started.  His lie, however, was only to cover up what he had become - when Castiel attacks him and reveals what he is, it changes everything.</p><p>Now Dean, Sam, and Castiel must work together in order to stop the apocalypse again.  Half the world becomes undead in a short period of time, and the zombies have begun to mutate rapidly.  If that isn't bad enough, someone has released Lucifer once more!  Sacrifices must be made, but who will step up to bat this time?</p><p>Ever since Dean became this, he's had a boost in sexual, murderous, and power-mad urges.  He wants Cas real bad and a small part of him even wants Sam; he can't stop thinking about them.  Dean knows he needs to focus on the task at hand, but will he be able to control himself as he becomes more demonic?  Only time will tell...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Consumed

The moment Dean had flicked his eyes open, he knew something was wrong. His vision was blurry momentarily as his eyes adjusted, and his body completely ached. The last thing he could remember was his encounter with...with Metatron - he had failed Sam, Castiel, and the rest of the world once again, just because some douchebag with wings powered himself up with a stupid hunk of rock. Someone's voice echoed in the back of his mind as he pushed the thought away: " _The Mark never quite let go_."

  
Nothing about that sounded even remotely good to Dean, and Goddamn, if he didn't already have enough crap going on. He sat up and went to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. Dean froze when he saw a black-eyed son of a bitch in the mirror, the one who wickedly stared back at him with the same shocked expression. He had jumped back from the sink upon discovering his new appearance, but now he walked forward slowly to study himself in the mirror.

  
He blinked rapidly, hoping they would go away, yet somehow he knew it was useless. Dean heard the same voice echo through his mind again, " _Listen to me, Dean Winchester, what you're feeling right now - it's not death. It's life - a new kind of life_." Each time the voice emerged from his subconscious, it became clearer and clearer who it was; Crowley hadn't told him everything, and Dean felt like an idiot for thinking he might actually help them.

  
Dean began to breathe oddly, almost hyperventilating, as the reality of the situation hit him hard. He was one of them now, all because of that dick bag Crowley. He could feel his blood begin to boil as an immense hatred sat and built up in the pit of his stomach. A low growl emitted from Dean's vocal chords, his fists clenched, and an ear piercing scream was released.

  
Weeks later, he had found a hotel room in Essex, Montana. He had ignored Sam's calls and had angel-proofed the room with special symbols. " _Time_ ," he thought, " _I just need time to adjust_." Dean needed more than that - Sam, Castiel, and every other winged bastard or hunter would definitely try to kill him if they found out.

  
Immediately, he started to search for a cure other than human blood, though with no luck. Another week of ignoring Sam and endless research gave him nothing, but Dean refused to give up and instead, he researched all night. Since he became a demon, he couldn't sleep anyway - it wasn't like he hadn't tried - because every time he closed his eyes, Dean would find himself being tortured in Hell again by Alistair. It was worse now, because even though the dreams were realistic and almost unbearable, they had never included Sam or Castiel before.

  
While he was researching, a local news article caught his attention. He clicked it and skimmed through, his jaw clenching. "Shit," he muttered as he finished it, then standing up and moving to the window. Dean took a deep breath, peeked through the blinds, and there it was; in the streets, two stories below, lay several casualties which were being devoured by feral and mindless humans - or, at least, those who were once human.  
Surviving this, for Dean, would be easy enough because he could just move from body to body or kill them in large groups with his new abilities. His mind was ripped from the thought when an image of a zombified Sam and Cas popped up. Though he knew it was just the demon he had become, the thought didn't make him as sick as it should have. In fact, he almost enjoyed it; the corners of Dean's mouth twitched slightly, nearly into a smirk.

  
Shaking away the sick and twisted thought, he packed his things quickly and teleported to the Impala. "Demon or not," Dean said to his car, grinning, "you're still my baby." With that, he shoved his bag into the passenger seat and started the Impala; if there was one thing Dean knew, it was that he had to protect Sam and Castiel no matter what he thought or felt in this form, because they were all of the family he had left. He turned up the radio and let Iron Butterfly's "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" blare as he sped down the road and headed back to the bunker.


	2. Chapter One: Angel with a Shotgun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam meet up at "the Batcave." Castiel shows up soon after, attacking Dean and revealing what he has become.

Sam had done this ritual many times, so when Crowley took almost ten minutes to show, he drew his gun and whipped around when someone spoke suddenly.  He quickly put it away when he realized it was only Crowley, and then moved nearer.  "I need you to -" Crowley joined Sam now, saying, "revive Dean."  He wasn't phased by the demon doing this any more; Sam had been around him long enough when he was doing the trials, and had the unfortunate experience of spending hours with the jackass.

"Moose," began Crowley, "I would that I could.  You don't have anything of use to me, no leverage any more."  He smiled a bit as he continued, "Sorry, Moose - rules are rules.  Now, if you'll excuse -"

"You're right, Crowley," Sam countered, "I have nothing left to offer you.  But, see, I do have you in a Devil's Trap," he walked over to a small, metal medical cart and grabbed a syringe full of red liquid.  Turning, he then took a couple steps toward Crowley and held the needle up for him to see.  "I could always use my blood."

Crowley swallowed hard, speaking after a few minutes of silence.  "All right," he finally growled.  "I'll bring back your brother.  Take me to his body, then."

Sam tossed the specialized handcuffs that they had used on him before at Crowley's feet.  Reluctantly, he put them on and Sam made sure they were closed right.  He led the King of Hell to the hotel bed in the next room where Dean's body was placed.  Sam's mouth fell agape when his brother wasn't there, and he frantically searched the hotel room.

Desperately, he checked in closets, the bathroom, and finished back in by the beds.  Sam turned to Crowley and through clenched teeth said, "Where is he?"  He moved closer to him, anger and sorrow mixing inside of him almost dangerously.  Crowley took a few steps back, holding up his hands.

"Honestly, Moose," he replied steadily, "I haven't a clue."  As Sam approached, he heard a car start up on the ground floor.  He whipped around and in only a few seconds, Sam was at the window of the hotel room; he watched as the Impala sped off, catching a glimpse of his brother in the driver seat.  Crowley was next to him, watching, with only one thing to say, "We just found our Blue's Clue."

Sam stared at Crowley for a second then shook his head.  He pulled out his cell phone and attempted to call Dean.  While he waited for him to pick up, he began packing his things.  Sam was directed to voicemail after the fourth ring, which meant either Dean was ignoring him, or that wasn't his brother.

He didn't like those options, so he hurried to pack and track him down.  Once he had finished packing, he unlocked Crowley's cuffs and left the hotel to head for the bunker.  Sam had hitchhiked before, so he did it again for a couple of towns.  He tried to call Dean a few times every couple of days, either from the hotel rooms he stayed in or his phone, when it had a charge.

A few weeks had gone by with no returned calls, no sightings from the other hunters, and Castiel couldn't provide any information either.  In the meantime, he and Cas had been looking for a spell or ritual to return the angels to Heaven.  They found a couple of misleading cases for the spell, but they continued to search.  Castiel left Sam to his research in order to question Metatron, hoping he secretly had the answer.

One more week had passed, with nothing to help either of the situations.  Sam was trying not to lose hope; it had been three weeks since the showdown with Metatron, three weeks since Dean seemed to have disappeared off of the planet.  Usually this wouldn't have affected him this early, but Dean was gone for a few years last time.  He didn't want to do this again, but Sam knew he had to at least look for him.

An article snagged his focus away and he clicked it.  As he read through it, he tried to call Dean again.  Voicemail greeted him and he felt his stomach churn in fear of what he read.  The phone had beeped for him to record his message, but it took him a couple of seconds to find his voice.

"D-Dean," he started, "we've got trouble.  There's some sort of zombie outbreak going on in Essex, Montana."  Sam shut his laptop and went to gather his stuff.  "When you get this, you know where I'll be."

With that, Sam hung up and packed all of his things into his duffle bag.  He left the hotel quickly, heading to the bus station.  From there, he made his way to the bunker.  His heart was racing; how did his life become like this?

Hours later, he arrived at the bunker.  It was already late in the night; he hopped out of the passenger seat of a truck and thanked the driver.  Cautiously, he approached the place, seeing that the Impala was here.  Sam called out, "Dean, you here?"

He heard footsteps and turned to see Dean walking towards him.  "Yeah, Sam, I'm here," he responded.  "How have you been?"  Dean was only a couple of feet away, but Sam felt like he wasn't really there.

"H-how have I been," he stuttered in shock as he stared at his brother.  "Great, thanks; since you up and vanished, Cas and I have been searching non-stop for you.  Where the hell have you been?  Y-you couldn't call me back and tell me you were miraculously alive, you went and buried your head in the sand instead?"

Dean bit the inside of his cheek a bit to stop himself from telling Sam to cram it.  "Sam, I'm sorry, okay?  I found a case in Essex, I was only going to be gone a few days," he said.  "I noticed something weird going on in the town, and that's when I found an article on the outbreak there."

"You can tell me later, but right now we got to -" Sam stopped when he saw Castiel appear behind Dean, looking angry.  He gave Cas a confused look as he slipped something out of his sleeve, something shiny and - "Dean, look out," screamed Sam.  Dean twisted around and caught Castiel's wrists, then knocked the angel blade from his hand.  Cas head butted Dean in the nose, causing him to release Castiel's wrists and stumble backwards.

Quickly, the angel snapped his arm out and punched Dean, knocking him to the ground.  Sam raced over and grabbed Cas, holding him in place.  "Cas," he yelled, "Cas, enough!  Stop, we need to go inside and -"

Sam was interrupted by him, "He's a demon, Sam."  He looked to Sam and saw the confusion on his face.  Dean slowly stood up, wiping blood on his sleeve from his face.  Sam looked to him, as if waiting for confirmation.

Castiel wouldn't take his eyes off of Dean, and Dean was staring right back.  His eyes turned completely black as he looked to his brother and replied, "Yeah, I'm one of those sons of bitches now.  I've been trying to find a cure other than the one the Men of Letters has."  His eyes returned to normal and after a long pause he continued, "I came here to make sure you were both okay, and I need some help with this."

"How do we know we can trust you now," Sam asked, his jaw clenching.  "He has to be lying," Sam thought, trying to convince himself this wasn't happening.  All he really wanted was to go back to being kids, when things were much simpler - at least, relatively simpler, that is.  "We need proof; we don't even know if you're you."

"Sammy, if you help me get back to normal, you'll have your proof," Dean said.  "But until then, you're going to have to trust me.  Listen, we don't have time for this!  There are zombies out there now, and we've got to find a way to fix it."

Castiel and Sam exchanged glances briefly before Cas spoke up.  "If you betray us, Dean," he began darkly, "I will be the one to end your life."  He stared Dean down until he saw a half smirk on his face.  Castiel narrowed his eyes slightly, glaring as he tried to analyze him.

"Don't worry, Cas," Dean reassured him, "I'm still gankin' Crowley's ass when I'm cured."  Sam nodded a bit at Dean, still in somewhat of a trance.  "Crowley neglected to tell us that this is what happens when you die with The Mark of Cain," he continued.  "Let's get inside; we don't know how far its spread yet."

Sam, Castiel, and Dean headed inside of the bunker.  Dean explained that the zombies seemed almost like the ones from Resident Evil.  He told them he had had no luck in finding a cure for himself, too, and that he was sorry he hadn't stuck around.  "I feel empty like this," he added, "I think I know how you felt when you were soulless, Sammy."

"Sam," Castiel said, "Look after Dean.  I need to check on Hannah and the other angels to see if they have found a way to break Metatron's spell yet.  I may be absent for a few days."  He moved to Sam's side, whispering into his ear, "Use the room Crowley was kept in if necessary."

Sam nodded and cleared his throat.  Cas was gone; now he was alone with a creature that was once his brother, but he knew a shred of Dean was still there inside of him.  If there wasn't, he wouldn't have taken the Impala - he smiled faintly at the thought - but he also wouldn't have come back for them, or asked for help.  Dean was still there, somewhere, and Sam knew it deep down; maybe that's why he found some comfort with him around, because demon or not, Dean was still his brother and he still came back to try and protect him.

"Sam," he said in alarm, "we've got some company."  Dean was peering through the blinds with a grim expression.  "Come and take a look."  Sam walked over to him, looking through the blinds as well.

He was confused at first until his eyes adjusted to the darkness outside.  "Oh, shit," Sam mumbled.  Before their eyes were a few zombies, mindlessly walking around.  The dark, black clouds above them were ominously swirling around, restlessly; Dean and Sam exchanged looks before nodding and going to fetch their weapons.


	3. Chapter Two: Beside Myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being summoned by Sam, Crowley leaves back to his home. He becomes distracted by his addiction, though he's desperately tried to kick his habit. What will become of Crowley, and will he have to resort to asking the boys for help once more?

Crowley had disappeared back to Hell after Sam had released him.  A burning hatred for the boys was burning within him; who did they think they were, randomly summoning the King of Hell for whatever petty reason they could think of?  Not to mention blackmailing him with an almost dangerous addiction.  No, Crowley had had enough of those buggers for a lifetime now - he had been tied up, drugged, locked in the trunk of a car, and downright abused.

He decided to relax for the day, and headed off to his private home; he went through the living room to his private quarters.  "Winchesters," he hissed quietly to himself, "they never learn, do they?"  Crowley's minions were awaiting him at the door, standing guard on each side.  As he approached, they opened the doors for him and closed them after he had passed through.  "Juliet," he called softly, making kissing noises, "where are you, darling?"

A low growl followed by a short whine allowed Crowley to pinpoint where his precious hellhound was located.  He strode over to her and gently patted her head, smiling as he did so.  "What do you think, love," he inquired, "of the Winchesters?"  Juliet let out an ominous rumble, her fur standing up on end in response.

This only made Crowley smile further, petting his companion.  "Good girl," replied he, wandering over to a black leather armchair.  Planting himself in the piece of furniture, Crowley sighed contentedly; it was good to be the King of Hell, especially since his minions now feared him more than ever, thanks to Abbadon challenging him - and, of course, failing.  His smile faded slowly as his mind shifted from subject to subject, eventually landing him back at what had happened earlier with Sam.

He bit the inside of his cheek as Sam's words slammed into the front of his mind, " _I could always use my blood_."  Crowley hadn't admitted it - and, mind you, still wouldn't, if he were asked once more - but he ravished the feeling of human blood pumping through his veins.  He also hated it more than anything in the world at the same time, because it made him _feel_ , and that was something he, as King of Hell, shouldn't do.  The thought of it made his head pound and his stomach churn anxiously - signs that even he could have withdrawal symptoms.

 "Oh, not this load of rubbish again," he hissed through a tightened jaw.  Crowley's attention was torn away by someone knocking on his bedroom door.  "Yes, what is it," he called uncaringly, inviting them in.  Two younger demons stalked in and stood before him, hands clasped in front of them.

"My King," the first one spoke, a girl with medium length black hair and a petite body frame, "there seems to be a disturbance going on in the over world.  It seems that the humans are attacking one another, though the ones who are attacking have become feral and mentally unstable."  The girl waited shortly before she continued, "Your Majesty, this issue does not seem threatening for us as of now.  I fear, however, that if things are left unattended -" she was cut off suddenly by Crowley, who had already been on edge before their arrival.

"What you're telling me," he interrupted, "is that there are actual zombies roaming the face of the Earth right this very moment?"  The room had fallen silent at Crowley's words, his annoyance and anger lingering thickly in the air.  The low-ranking demons began to feel nervous, though they kept their composure.  The small girl was the one who took the King's ridicule.

He stared her down for a couple minutes in silence, rubbing his chin as he thought about what to say.  The messengers dared not to move, afraid that by reminding him they were there, they would be signing their immediate death wish.  Crowley let out an irritated sigh, closing his eyes and absorbing the situation going on around him; why it was so difficult for petty minions to understand their orders, Crowley would never know.  His eyes flashed open and locked onto the girl, thinking, " _You only had one job -_ _just_ one _, love_."

"We're demons," Crowley continued slowly, "we don't help the humans without a price.  Those that are desperate will summon the cross road demons and make deals, upping our profit."  He smiled icily at the girl, crossing one leg over the other in his chair.  " _Why_ you've decided to  _pester_ me with this, I haven't the slightest idea; _don't_ go ruining our business now, love, because it's just getting started."

"Yes, my King," the girl responded steadily, bowing her head a little to show respect.  "It shall not happen again, and I apologize for bothering you in your private hours."  The two messengers left swiftly, just happy - if you could call it that - to still be alive.  Crowley was alone again, with the thoughts seeping and dripping back into his head.

He shook them away once again, pulling all of his might together to make them disappear.  Deciding it was probably best for him, as well as business, Crowley left back to the over world to check out what the messengers had relayed to him.  "A little visit up top," he thought, "should do wonders for me."  With that, he snapped his fingers and teleported a few yards from the bunker.

"Bollocks," whispered he, looking around at the corpses that wandered aimlessly.  There weren't many for a demon, but your chances were slim if you were human - even Crowley could tell that from just a glance.  Slowly, little by little, the bunker was being swarmed; they hadn't noticed the lights, or even that there were people inside yet.  The King of Hell twitched a little, seeing the zombies covered in splotches of blood from head to toe.  His mouth watered somewhat as he spaced out briefly, his veins burning for human blood to swim through them...

He was distracted by a groan close by and he turned to see a zombie limping towards him, arms outstretched.  It had once been a woman, a jogger from the looks of it, with short brown hair and brown eyes; her lower jaw was missing, blood stained the once blue athletic uniform, and chunks of flesh had been removed from her body, leaving various muscles and small pieces of bones showing.  The woman's eyes were completely bloodshot, her pupils small and seemingly distant - any life in her had already gone, hours ago.  Chuckling softly, Crowley raised his hand, palm facing out, and twisted it until the zombie itself was twisted and drained of anything left: blood, organs, brains, and more littered the ground where the foe had stood.

"Oops," said the demon, "looks like this prey fights back."  He faced the bunker again and headed off towards the entrance.  With a snap of his fingers, he summoned a black, swirling cloud of demons and sent them to entertain the zombies for a short period of time.  Another snap of his fingers, and he was inside the bunker, walking towards the Winchesters.  Dean tensed up because he felt Crowley there and he whipped around, pointing a gun directly at him; Crowley only held up his hands to show he wasn't there to fight.

"Hello, boys.  Glad to see you're back, Dean," offered the demon.  Dean was pissed off, and it showed in his face as he stared Crowley down.  Sam jumped at the sudden voice, unaware of the situation because of his focus on the zombies and demons outside.  He swiveled around, his gaze falling on their visitor.

"Crowley," hissed Sam, staring him down as well.  "Why the hell are you here, and where did all of these demons come from?"  He was uneasy about the whole scene laid before him, but he had no choice right now; it wasn't like he had time to try and kill the demons on top of the zombies.  Sam shifted his weight uncomfortably, keeping his gun ready at his side.

"I just stopped by for a visit," Crowley replied innocently.  "Those morons?  They're just here to keep the other morons company."  Grinning somewhat, he added, "It's almost like throwing the little buggers a pity party."

Sam's face twisted in confusion and Dean continued glaring at him.  "Get out of here, douchebag," barked Dean, clearly unamused by Crowley's presence.  He still had the gun pointed at the other demon; in the moment, Dean felt nothing - nothing, except pure, unadulterated hatred focused solely on the bastard who tricked him into this.  Given the chance, he would have ecstatically wrenched the First Blade into Crowley's cold, undead heart.

The corners of his mouth nearly bloomed into a smile at the thought, but he controlled himself.  Sam spoke up, "Dean, put down the gun.  Crowley might be able to help us, okay?"  His brother's voice broke his intense concentration momentarily, so Dean slowly nodded and lowered the weapon.

"Why would I want to help you," questioned the King of Hell, arching his brows as he did.  "There's nothing you have to offer, remember?  Unless you'd like to auction off your soul...again?"  His eyes flicked to Sam, specifically.

"You know," Sam responded stubbornly, "you can cut the crap, Crowley.  We know why you're here."  He offered a small smirk at the confused look on the demon's face, then continued, "You aren't over your addiction, are you?  Not yet.

"See, Castiel let us in on a little secret," Sam went on after a minute of quiet.  "You've been getting your henchmen to snatch blood bags from the hospital, again."  He could see Crowley's jaw tighten a bit and his eyes harden.  "But, your supply hasn't been quite right - not fresh enough - am I right?"

There was no retort from him, but Sam knew from his body language and facial expression that it hit a nerve.  "So, here's the deal," Dean joined in, "you're going to help us, and Sammy here will fix you up with a little something from the tap.  You screw us over and we'll kill your sorry ass; don't think we won't, dick bag.  Got it?"

"I refuse to do this," yelled Crowley; his anger had been building up since Sam brought up the blood.  "I won't be Winchester'd again!  You bloody lot have done nothing but abuse me: making me the junkie I am, locking me in your damn trunk, nearly costing me my throne - and you want _ME_ to help _YOU_ , you pathetic, degrading, sloppy animals?!"  He was livid now, the flashbacks popping up one by one in his mind.

Dean laughed, to Sam and Crowley's surprise, and said, "Yeah, well, let's go over what you did to deserve that.  You killed people we already saved, you tried to torture and kill the Tran family, you've black mailed us, you turned Cas against us, you've sent Hellhounds after us - oh, and here's the biggest kick in the pants -" Dean raised his voice and screamed back now, " - YOU TRICKED ME INTO BECOMING THE ONE THING I HATE THE MOST!"  He clenched his jaw and after another minute in the stillness, he spoke again, through his teeth.  "I'm a monster now - hell, I was only a dick before, but at least I was doing the right thing.  This won't end well for anyone in this new war, Crowley, so I hope you found a nice little hole to bury your head in - oh, wait, you did: it's your ass."

Crowley grit his teeth and stared Dean down, his face flushed with rage.  "One day, Dean Winchester," he hissed through his teeth, "you will regret ever meeting me.  I will end you, your brother, and every little bug on this planet that you have ever loved.  _No one_ in the history of torture's been tortured with torture like the torture _you'll_ be tortured with!"

"Oh, wow, you really know just how to turn a demon on, don't you?"  Sarcasm oozed from Dean, signaling to Sam he might be feeling a little more like himself.  A smirk wriggled its way to Dean's face as he leaned in closer to Crowley, looking him dead in the eyes as he spoke again.  "All of my family is dead, all of my friends are dead; the only thing I have left is Sam and Castiel, and it seems like you have a problem wiping us off the map, because let's face it Crowley: _we're better than you, we've always been, and we always will be_."

"Big mistake, Squirrel," Crowley replied, chuckling softly to himself.  "You think you're better because you're, what - human?  No, Dean; you're not even that any more, are you?"  He smiled faintly and after a moment, continued, "Don't try to play hero when you can't even save yourself, Squirrel - just a tad bit of advice from now on."  With that, Crowley snapped his fingers and vanished from the bunker, leaving the boys to fight the zombies on their own...


End file.
